


Single White Evil Genius

by fhsa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-26
Updated: 2005-03-26
Packaged: 2019-02-05 18:25:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12799800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhsa_archivist/pseuds/fhsa_archivist
Summary: None





	Single White Evil Genius

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

Wednesday morning arrived with all the usual accompaniments Lex Luthor had grown accustomed to. 

 

Earl Gray tea brought in by his butler and left on the bedroom dinette table. A few minutes later, the morning paper was in his office and finally, Lex saw a hastily scribbled letter left by yet another woman who had packed her things in the middle of the night while leaving a few pairs of shoes behind in her haste yet again. 

 

Strange. He always thought women loved their shoes. 

 

Another sip of tea (this time fine jasmine from Thailand -- delicious!) and Lex opened the letter to read. 

 

**** Dear Lex: 

 

Got a call from Doctors Without Borders in the middle of the night and have immediately decided that living in a hut and treating poor native peoples was really what I wanted to do with my life, so I must be leaving. Right now. 

 

I might be in Zimbabwe, or I might not, so don't bother looking for me. Please. 

Because I might be in Guam. Or the North Pole. Or somewhere so far away you'd be wasting your valuable time and I don't want you doing that, pookieface. 

See? You're still my pookieface, so no need to get upset. 

 

Right? Right! 

 

It's not that I don't love you or anything (so please don't get mad about this, in fact, try not to get mad at me at all) it's just that, well, you know ... Zimbabwe! 

 

How could I possibly resist? 

 

Anyway, I enjoyed the time I spent with you and found your decorating choices for the mansion very ... interesting. There's no way I could have messed with any of that, so perhaps this is the best thing for everyone involved.

 

So, goodbye. Have a nice future. Say hi to the Kents for me or just wave to the giant Clark poster in that very special room of yours. Either is fine. 

Best, 

 

Helen 

 

PS: You can keep my shoes. They might even fit you. **** 

 

"Huh," Lex said. He crumpled the letter up into a ball before tossing it with perfect aim into the wastebasket. He picked his newspaper back up. "Someone wasn't ready for greatness, I see." 

 

After the paper was read, Lex stretched lazily, popping out a crick in his neck before heading to his next usual destination of the morning. 

 

His own Fortress of Solitude. The Special Room where Lex liked to be alone, at least before his morning shower and sometimes before bedtime, depending if he had "company" or not. He didn't feel bad about stealing the room's name from Clark, in fact, it made a lot of sense in a humorous sort of way. 

 

Well, he found it funny anyway. 

 

A quick run down the hall and Lex pulled out his key. Turned the lock and took a deep breath of anticipation, knowing that his giant picture of Clark would be waiting there for him, as beautiful, as perfect, as *pouty* as... 

 

"Lex?" 

 

As the real thing? 

 

Lex whirled around, gaping. "Cla ...Clark?" 

 

"Lex." A statement in a strained voice, accompanied by a look that was nowhere near pouty or perfect, or even particularly pretty - unless unbridled fury was your thing. 

 

Lex decided it wasn't. "Clark, I can explain." 

 

Clark snorted like a bull. "You don't have to." His lips, usually so soft and kissable were stretched into long, angry line and his cheeks, usually sitting so serenely over those perfect cheekbones ... were they twitching? 

 

"I think I should," Lex stammered, wishing desperately he'd built an emergency exit to the room. Damn. 

 

"As I said," Clark growled, "You don't have to. I received a very interesting note from your dear, departed girlfriend this morning which told me all I needed to know, as well as her spare key." 

 

Lex grimaced, his own ire rising. Dear, departed was right. He was going to burn every hut in Africa by the time he was through looking for her. 

 

Bitch. Why the hell did he have to pick a smart one this time? 

 

"Clark, this room isn't what you think it is!" Lex insisted, his face contorting into every teary, hard-swallowing, pathos-filled mask he had in his vast arsenal of expressions. "It's just ..." 

 

"Look Lex," Clark said sharply, cutting him off. "I know about you and your obsession with the accident. Fine. I know you're an obsessive-compulsive weirdo who has to know everything, especially things that are clearly marked as none of your business. Fine." A huge, shaking fist held up something light blue, with an elastic waistband. "But why do you have my UNDERWEAR in here?" 

 

The blue cloth, still rather musty from the hamper it was snatched from some weeks before whirled through the air and hit Lex square in the head. It hung from there, covering his face. "I, uh, was experimenting with them," he muttered, his voice muffled by the cotton. He sheepishly took it off, his temper getting hotter by the minute, as much from embarrassment as everything else. 

 

Stupid ex-girlfriend. Stupid alien farmboy. Stupid security team that sucked. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

 

"You took Boo-Boo Bear!" Clark accused, pointing at the small ice bag, shaped like a teddy bear and used for minor bruises and falls, perfectly preserved in a tiny glass trophy case. 

 

Lex's anger finally took over, washing the humiliation away in a flood of irritation. Hey, *he* wasn't the sneaky, rotten liar here, was he? 

 

"So what? It's not like you need him," Lex sneered. If they were going to have it out, so be it. "You're not going to be bruising anytime soon, are you, Indestructo Boy! As for your underwear, I was trying to win the World's Ugliest Boxers contest on the internet and mine didn't qualify, okay?" He drew himself up in the tallest rage he could muster. "OKAY?" 

 

Clark's shoulders slumped slightly. Lex's anger seemed to take the wind out him, and strangely enough, his face took on a measure of sadness. "Oh, Lex." 

 

"And as for the poster, I've taken up archery and I needed a target," Lex continued smugly, as Clark gazed at him with that strange mixture of sadness ... and oddly enough, patience. "A big fat target, with your big fat head on it, so the next time you come in here and start busting my chops about caves and Lana and gimme-gimme and ... mmmmph." 

 

Silence then, for a good long moment, since faster than it took Lex to blink, were long, strong arms wrapped around him. Clark's lips were once again perfect and soft and he was kissing Lex as if the world was ending and this would be the last kiss either one of them would know. 

 

Perhaps that's exactly what it was. 

 

The kiss took Lex's breath away and maybe that was Clark's plan. To kill him with a super-strong hug and alien kiss of death and oh, didn't that feel wonderful, like drowning in sweetness and Lex melted into the touches, forgetting everything he was supposed to be -- brilliant and mad and never, ever weak. 

 

Never. Sort of. Maybe. 

 

Wow. 

 

Finally, Clark pulled away, the patient expression still there, the sadness gone. 

 

He looked rather ... determined. 

 

That frightened Lex more than anything else. "Are, uh, you going to kill me?" Lex asked, gingerly pulling away as far as Clark's tight embrace would let him. 

 

"No," Clark replied tiredly. "But I am going to do something, I afraid. 

Something radical. And I'm sorry, Lex, but it has to be done." 

 

Lex swallowed hard. Maybe messing with the super powerful, invincible, sonic-speeded alien creature wasn't such a good idea after all. "Look, Clark. I ... we ... can still be friends. In fact, better friends than before, because now I can do all these things for you and your ... " 

 

"Shut up, Lex." A quick fireman's lift and Lex was over Clark's shoulder, helplessly dangling over the floor, his arms holding onto Clark's waist, his eyes shut tightly in fear. 

 

The long walk down the hall started and Lex began to babble. 

 

"If you throw me out the window, my security will know." 

 

"Not gonna throw you out the window." 

 

"If you toss me down the stairs, the cameras will catch it." 

 

"No stair tossing." 

 

"If you ..." Lex felt himself being flipped over and braced for the landing, which was much softer and bouncier than expected. He opened one eye a crack and saw his bedroom ceiling, partially blocked by Clark's looming figure. "Okay, what *are* you doing?" 

 

"Getting ready to fuck you," Clark said firmly, pulling off his shirt, revealing enough beauty to make Lex's gorgeous Clark picture cry with envy. "Sorry, Lex, but I can't ignore a cry for help. And that room ..." He lowered himself over Lex and spread kisses over his cheeks, his eyes and nipped along the trembling jaw, sighing. "Damn, I should have done this months ago." 

 

"Years ago," Lex burbled, between kisses. He was going to take a sledgehammer to that room, and Clark was going to watch him do it and ... "Oh," he gasped, as Clark licked his way down to Lex's navel, as Lex watched. 

 

Gorgeous, and he was keeping the picture up. Forever. 

 

"It's coming down," Clark muttered against Lex's abdomen, showing off impressive alien mind-reading skills. He looked up with a sly grin. "I'll give you a better one later." 

 

Lex smiled senselessly at the ceiling as Clark started to pull down his pajama pants. Thank goodness. 

 

His evil plot had *finally* worked.


End file.
